


Nightmares

by DarthSuki



Series: Daft Punk (EDM) and You [9]
Category: Daft Punk, Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:05:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader finds themselves with a nightmare and wakes up in a panic. The bots find them like that, and do their best to comfort the reader however they can to help them get back to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> **Anonymous requested:**   
>  _You could write reader having a panic attack or even just a nightmare (if you're not comfortable writing stuff like that) and the bots trying to comfort reader._
> 
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> 
> This isn't exactly what i originally had in mind >>; (I really didn't originally intend to focus on the nightmare so much as I did) but it also turned out wayyyy longer than originally intended so...I SUPPOSE THAT'S GOOD. CONSIDERING THIS IS THE FIRST I'VE WRITTEN IN MONTHS I'LL CALL THIS GOOD.
> 
> [Also here is the link to the fan-made sound of Guy's heartbeat for the later portion of the oneshot](http://sukithefangirl.tumblr.com/post/79999673426/thomasbxngalter-i-tried-to-replicate-what)

**General**

Name: y/n  
Eye Color: e/c  
Hair color: h/c  
Hair Length: h/l

**Gender**

Subject Pronoun (He/She/Ect): s/p  
Object Pronoun (Him/Her/Ect): o/p  
Possessive Pronoun (His/Hers/Theirs/Ect): p/p  
Possessive Adjective (His/Her/Their/Ect): p/a  
Reflexive pronoun (Himself/Herself/Ect): r/p

* * *

It’s been dark for a while. Night had set upon you for what felt like hours and hours ago, and yet no matter how long you wait for the sky to lighten, every turn of your eyes upwards to the heavens yields nothing but a cold, black sky. Even the stars themselves seem to have left you, leaving nothing but the deep, terrifying emptiness of the cosmos above. You’re not even sure where you are at this point, merely weaving through the scratchy, leafless branches of the trees, no end in sight to your wandering, and no memory in how you even came into the forest in the first place.

The air stings your skin like needles with every step, and every breath leaves your lungs nearly frozen, too cold and too painful to take another breath afterwards. And yet you do, trudging on through the endless maze of bare trees with nothing but the soft light of the night to guide you forward, though you never thought to question where that light was coming from when nothing hung in the sky above. You only focused on walking, step by step, as if each one might bring the possibility of being free--free from what? You weren’t sure--though the cold made each moment of the present cling to you like a sharp needle through your mind, it also dulled out the thoughts of the past as much as the intentions of the future.

You already thought to call out for help, though who would be in the forest and close enough to hear, you hadn’t the slightest clue. Freedom simply seemed a worth enough outcome if it would otherwise mean a few fruitless calls. The words almost seem to cling to your lips, too heavy and too thick to feel...right. Instead of echoing through the forest, they almost seem so simply drop from your mouth like stones, sitting there uselessly while you merely walk over them.

Useless, useless…

Your mouth opens up once more to try again with more force, more vigor; you’re halted before the first sound has the chance to come up; another noise is what greets you. A snap, sharp and close. It can’t be your own feet--they’re bare, and though nearly numb on the cold ground, the path is clear of twigs and underbrush and--

Another snap, louder, closer--its just behind you. Your heart starts to pound as fear trickles down from your mind to your arms, your legs. SNAP! Louder still, closer, just a few meters behind you and suddenly cold, striking terror is holding your entire body stock still. Can’t move, can’t even turn your head back around as the sounds become rhythmic--like footsteps. It closes in until it’s barely a few feet behind you, and still you can’t run, can’t turn, can’t do anything but start to choke on your own thick, heavy breath.

As if suddenly covered by a thick veil of cloth, the entire world around you falls completely into blackness. Where you had some minute sense of light--enough to see a path in front of you and the branches of the trees on either side--there is suddenly nothing at all. Frozen, blind and terrified beyond all belief, the only thing you can move are your eyes.

They glide back and forth across the horizon, taking in the everything that is nothing, nothing but--but a glow? You were certain it wasn’t there but a moment before, but upon a blink of your eyes, its there. It’s but a singular point of light at first, a deep, almost pulsing red dot that looks neither too close or too far away. And then a second one appears right beside it, both pulsing at the same time.

The glowing orbs start getting larger, and it takes a moment full of that same frozen terror to realize that it isn’t as if they’re growing larger--they’re getting closer, and with them came an unmistakable, unexplainable terror, exactly like it had been mere moments (minutes, hours?) before when the world wasn’t covered in darkness, when the air was chilled and you felt watched, felt chased by the unknown creature with the heavy, snapping footsteps.

 

“No,” you whisper--closer they come, pulsing in a pace that almost reminds you of blinking, and thats exactly the moment you realize that’s what they’re doing, blinking. “NO!” The world tears from your lips as at last, at last you can move--

The floor, as dark as everything else around you, is hard and cold as the snowy ground of before. Nothing around you made any sense--there was no horizon, no space or time--just literal blackness. It was hard to know whether to feel boxed in or able to spin around and run at that point, since the only point of reference at all were the glowing red eyes closing in on you, getting closer and closer until you’re sure you can hear those snapping footsteps again.

You push yourself back, movement feeble and useless. The breath that is pulled into your lungs is heavy and thick as before, making you feel as heavy as a rock as the eyes finally come upon you--as large as cars and still coming and you’re kicking yourself back until--

You fall back into the nothingness. Whatever floor that lay beneath you had utterly disappeared, leaving nothing but the empty, vastness of...nothing. Nothing but the still constant, still crashing snaps and footsteps echoing eternally in your ears, and the painful etching of bright glowing eyes behind your eyelids.

* * *

Its not so much crashing as it simply is feeling the world shift until you find yourself flying to sit up--immediately there’s the assurance of something laying beneath you, solid and real; it’s your bed. There is a short, beautiful moment of relief that indeed comes from the realization that everything you experienced, from the cold forest to the red, intimidating glowing eyes was all nothing more than a nightmare, laced tight between your thoughts while you slept.

The moment doesn’t linger all that much though. Within a single breath the realization comes to mind that your room is...very dark. No darker than it ever was before of course, lights off and barely a thin trickle of white glow coming from outside one window where the moon was (probably a full moon), but it feels just as dark and empty as the nightmare still gnawing at the edges of your frayed thoughts. Too dark, too empty.

You’re already pushing yourself out of the warmth and comfort of the bed before a thought comes to stop you--its not like you’re going to simply wait until something in your room starts to remind you of the glowing red eyes; the feeling of being watched is already breathing down your neck by the time you get out to the main hallway from your room. The bed was empty after all, cold and without any sort of indication that either of your bedmates had been in it, even if it was just for your sake since they neither needed nor desired sleep in the same manner that you did.

The time is irrelevant at that point. Neither of the bots have any sort of meeting they needed to be at, and you know that if they were leaving for the night for any reason you’d be the very first person they’d tell (besides eachother). The knowledge that they’re in the house somewhere doesn’t offer too much comfort in itself--the fear lingers like a blanket over your shoulders, trailing in step behind your own. Everything seemed to feel dark, and everything feels like it's watching you, following you. Suddenly you even start to worry, despite yourself and the assurance otherwise, that both of the bots aren’t in the house to help. Worry shifts into fear, and fear into anxiety--what if they’re gone? What if they decided to leave for the night or--or even forever?

The hallway feels longer. It feels as though every single step takes hours, and every breath is little more than cement filling your lungs but finally---finally you reach the entrance into the kitchen. Surprise as it was, nobody was there, and only the thin, soft light beneath one of the counters cut through the inky darkness. A thought comes to simply cut through the kitchen to get to the living room from the other side. When you take a step on the cool tile floor however, that feeling of fear at your back starts to spike, and suddenly the red dots of light on the coffee pot seem all too terrifying.

Suffice to say instead you took the long way around through the main hall of the house, until it spilled right into the vast livingroom, which was (thankfully) less dark. One of the lights were on, and was far brighter than the one in the kitchen. It cast a white glow over everything, and there were no red dots of any sort in the room. The interest did soon arise for the search to continue through the house to find both of your housemates, but….The house was dark. Instead of idly wandering around, frightened at every nook of darkness and absurdly harmless sound, you figured it was safer just to huddle up in the living room with the spare chance that Thomas or Guy would hear the television and come to see why it was on.

So that’s what you did--you sat yourself down on the couch, looked for (and found) the remote, and turned it on to watch whatever channel it landed on. After seeing the last few moments of a commercial you came to realize it was the news. Fair enough.

The room filled with noise. Just pure, white noise, at least when it came to your own senses. It didn’t matter the source or even what it was at all. Noise just filled the room up, and in some manner of logic, it made it an impenetrable fortress that nothing could come within, leaving you feeling safe while basked in the glow of the screen, flashing from a pert, pretty news anchor over onto some commercial about a new sort of glove to peel potatoes. It just swallowed you in some mundane form of comfort while you waited, though after the first commercial break you started to regret not taking the blanket from bed with you.

You couldn’t honestly count the minutes you were there alone, sitting in front of the television and trying not to focus on anything but the blissful input of audio sensation. At least three major news stories had been reported (plus another commercial break) before you heard footsteps coming from the kitchen behind you. These weren’t hard footsteps, and they barely registered as noise above that of the TV. In fact, if there hadn’t been a voice accompanying them you would have probably tried to drown them out with thoughts, muffled them into the back of your head labeled as the overanxious mental processes fueled by your nightmare.

“y/n?” The voice asked, sudden enough that your body almost jolts forward from how much it caught you off your guard. The familiarity of its tone and concern soothed back any further panic. “What are you doing up this late at night?”

Luckily enough the owner of the voice had stepped around the arm of the couch into your view only moments later. The glint of light from the television off silver became your first comfort. The second was a hand on your shoulder, a measured pressure and firmness neither too hard, nor too light. It was just enough to feel the gentle pulsing of his hand even through the layer of fabric that covered the metallic bits of his body--a rather useless feature logistically. It was one that Guy had experimented with first upon some tinkering, right around the time that they started taking some nights to ‘sleep’ beside you; it was supposed to mimic the beating of a heart.

It was that gentle, almost imperceptible pulse that preceded him sitting right beside you. The couch dipped under his weight. There was a moment of silence as he moved to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you until you lay your head against his shoulder. It didn’t take him long to answer his own question.

“Nightmares?” Came the bot’s soft, mechanical tone. You nodded, the motion pushing your face against his shoulder and into the physical protection of his body.

“And anxiety,” The words were muffled as they spilled from your lips and against him, but he heard you all the same and let out a sigh. Just the sound itself was as amusing as it was comforting--It was such a simple, warm human sound, and it came from someone who was so distinctly not human. A lot of human things came from them, even though their skin was fabric, their skeletons metal, and their voices electronically constructed noises. Their love was certainly, inexplicably human.

Thomas was silent for a time, the seconds ticking into minutes as his hand slowly found it’s way against your head. Fingers pushed into your hair and rubbed in gentle, circular motions against your skull, soothing in its own way. “...Do you wish to return to the bedroom?” He asked after turning his faceplate towards and against the top of your head.

“No,” You reply in honesty. Even though you know one or both would return with you and wait until you fell asleep, the idea of returning to that dark room just...still felt uncomfortable; the visions of the nightmare still gnawed at the edges of consciousness. “...are you guys working on some music right now?” Their studio was one of the places you didn’t look as it was soundproofed to hear almost no activity within--enough so to keep it out of your thoughts when you were simply focused on getting as far from the bedroom as possible.

Thomas didn’t need to ask why you were wondering (especially if the answer was yes). Nightmares were--thank god--few and far between since you began living with them, though panic attacks weren’t as lucky of a statistic. There was only momentary surprise from your lips when the bot’s gentle, strong arms shifted, moving too quickly pull you from your spot on the couch and up against his chest, carrying you without an ounce of strain.

He carried you down the few halls to the other side of the house and down the stairs to the basement, where it had been almost completely redone upon purchasing the home and made into a beautiful, fully finished music studio. Once the door was opened at the top of the stairs, you could hear the gentle, lulling noises of a piece of music more than obviously in progress.

After Thomas carried you down the steps, he set you down on the couch that sit at the far end of the studio that was outfitted much akin to a small living room. It was there as like most things in the home--for your benefit and comfort alone. Guy Manuel was at the other end of the long room, standing in front of one of the many machines they used, hooked up altogether in some complicated fashion or another--you weren’t really sure of the details, only that the outcome of each attempt between either or both of your lovers never ceased to thoroughly impress your ears.

Guy had seen you both, but didn’t give much indication at first as Thomas had passed within his sight range. He merely tweaked, twirled, pulled and pressed the various knobs and buttons on the sound equipment he stood beside, the loop of the music in the air changing every so often, then continuing on when it seemed that Guy was happy with the sound. It wasn’t music just yet--no, it was still just an infant, the small parts and pieces that would soon weave together in the coming days (sometimes a week or two) and they would ask for your opinion on the final product.

Thomas had you in his lap and was soothing a hand down your back when Guy finally pressed a button to pause the sounds and filters, then slowly sat down beside you. He looked to Thomas, and the silver robot glanced upwards to meet his pupil-less, masked gaze. Though there was silence in the air for several moments, you knew them well enough to know Thomas was probably explaining the situation to him in that odd interconnected communication channel they shared. It wasn’t anything other than just another odd, non-human ability, and it sure made communication a little more thorough between the three of you.

Seconds ticked into minutes. You lay your head to Thomas’ chest, feeling warm, and Guy’s touch comes gently against your shoulder. He makes a noise behind you--some soft, little beep--and before you can turn your head to look there are arms around you again, shifting, pulling you over and out of Thomas’ lap.

“You can go back to sleep, y/n,” Guy whispered into your ear. His hands pull a blanket over to you from the other side of the couch--it’s soft, fleece probably, and like a child your hands instantly pull it around yourself so its tight, up to your chin. Guy cradles you against his chest, one hand wrapped around your shoulders, and the other gently laying against one of your blanket-covered legs. “You’re safe now; nobody’s going to harm you while we’re here.”

His words and tone were a comfort, as calm as a brook and as powerful as a storm as they floated through your half-asleep mind. Heat seemed to emanate from his chest in low, slow pulses, and the gesture itself was as comforting as the heat that started to fill you up, made you feel soft, tired and lazy. By that point your eyes were closed--your face pressed against Guy’s chest, just for the chance to hear his soft, mechanical heartbeat. The noise, once you found it, was a perfect layer of noise just above the music-in-progress. It soothed you in sweet, audible reminder they were there--Guy holding you, and Thomas flicking himself across the soundboards and mixtables.

You could fall asleep--really, it isn’t all that difficult of an option when they’re almost literally serenading you with music--but it’s probably another half hour before you do. Your heart takes time to slow, and your brain to calm. The worry and anxiety are still there, still gnawing at your thoughts, but its easier to muffle them all when accompanied by Guy’s body like a shield around you, and Thomas working on the music.

It filled the air, filled it so full of familiar soundbytes and noise, filters and notes that as you finally started to succumb to the sweet warmth of a relaxed slumber against Guy, there simply didn’t seem to be any room left for shadows, darkness, or red-glowing eyes.

Your dreams instead were filled with music, protection, and the constant, soft sound of Guy’s heartbeat.


End file.
